Chapter 1 invisible arrow
The cobbled street was wet from the early morning rain, reflecting the gray skies and the flicker of neon signs. Footsteps echoed between crumbling buildings, hurried and unaware. No one noticed the arrow.
It lay still on the ground, sharp and slender, but invisible to the naked eye. People walked past it, even over it, never sensing the ancient magic coiled in its tip. Only those with true sight—those touched by the rune—could see it. And none of them remained in the city anymore.
A child’s laughter rang out as a group of boys kicked a rusted can down the alley. The arrow remained unmoved. A street vendor cursed under his breath, dropping a handful of roasted chestnuts onto the wet stones. Still, no one saw.
But the arrow waited. Not for a target. Not for revenge. It waited for the moment when the old magic would stir again.
In the year 2000, far from the flashing lights and concrete towers, there were woods. Dark, forgotten woods where no birds sang and no sun shone. In those woods, witches lived. Not the kind from fairy tales, but the kind that whispered to shadows and bled men dry beneath moonless skies.
They hunted only men. Some believed it was vengeance. Others believed it was hunger. Either way, the forest became a graveyard, thick with bones and secrets. And the witches—oh, they thrived in silence.
It was said that centuries ago, one witch forged an arrow from pure shadow and bound it with a rune of vanishing. The rune twisted the laws of nature, making the weapon unseen by any who lacked a witch’s mark. The arrow was cursed to never miss and never rest until it fulfilled its purpose. That was the invincible arrow.
But how did it find its way into the heart of the city? Why now?
At the edge of the crowd, a man paused. His coat was torn, his boots muddy, and his eyes—his eyes were strange. They shimmered with a faint blue glow, like the sky just before lightning. He didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. He simply stared at the empty space on the ground where the arrow waited.
And for the first time in a hundred years, the arrow shimmered—just briefly—like a ripple in still water.
The man took a step forward. The rune on his palm, long dormant, began to burn.
The witch’s curse had awakened.
